


I'm With You

by shutterbugtraveler



Series: At Long Last (A Collection of post Endgame ScottHope One-shots) [2]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbugtraveler/pseuds/shutterbugtraveler
Summary: Everybody's celebrating, but nobody's talking about the aftermath, like how Scott had missed five years of Cassie's life or the nightmare that's haunting Hope, but they figure that they'll be alright, the nightmares will fade, because they have each other.





	I'm With You

“Hope's my…uh, she was my, uh, she was supposed to pull me out,” There’s a slight break in Scott’s voice at the end of the sentence. Saying her name hurt, and then thinking about how she’s his partner, or was (is it even appropriate to use past tense because it felt like he saw her five hours ago, and then suddenly it’s five years in the future) is making him tongue-tied, the word ‘partner’ hanging on the tip of his tongue but he can’t say it out loud because his chest is constricting, he can’t breath, and he’d rather have his heart ripped out than bear the agony of losing Hope. 

“She’s gone Scott. Everybody’s gone. We can’t get them back. It’s over,” Steve Rogers is looking at him straight in the eyes, and there’s a mixture of sympathy, sadness and a flicker of weariness even, but that’s not what Scott wants to see, he wants to see hope, because Captain America is that beacon of hope.

“What?” Frown lines appear in between Scott’s eyebrows, the words ‘it’s over’ swimming in his ears. He stares at Steve in disbelief. “You’re not supposed to say that,” he inhales sharply, and that annoying lump returns in the back of his throat. “You’re Captain America! You’re not supposed to give up! No no no, this is not how it turned out,” Scott holds his hand up, and he clenches his jaw tight, his other hand forming into a fist.

“We’re supposed to get everyone back.”

And then he’s drowning, he’s drowning in an array of bright, colourful lights and then into an unending vastness of the Quantum Realm. _No! He can’t be back!_ Scott glances around, his eyes darting to and fro nervously, searching for an exit, but there was never one to began with, never will be. It’s just him, the psychedelic lights and the deafening silence. He should have known before going back in for the second time.

_It was a mistake._

Scott gets sucked into a time vortex and before he even realises it, a bloody battlefield materialises before him. He watches as the swarm of aliens, the intergalactic beasts and Thanos disappear into dust and his heart leaps with happiness because they’re victorious but then it all crashes the minute he sees Tony Stark’s lifeless eyes, drifting into space.

_No!_

Fearful, he runs and searches frantically for Hope. “Please be okay, please be okay,” he mutters under his breath like a madman, coming to a halt when he catches sight of the dark blue glint of her suit, except that she’s lying motionless on the ground, one of her legs splayed in an acute angle.

“Hope?” He freezes, blood turning cold.

And then he wakes up in bed, drenched in sweat, clutching too hard on the edges of the comforter. It takes him a few seconds to orientate himself, still discombobulated from the nightmare, taking in the surroundings of his bedroom, and then Hope.

_She’s alive!_

Scott heaves a sigh of relief, and flips over to his side to face her, who’s unstirred. He steadies his breathing and focuses on her. There’s a calming effect when he’s in the presence of Hope because the wild thumping of his heart slows down, the images of the dream fades away and the peace and quiet of the early morning returns.

They had found each other in the midst of the superheroes, warriors, wizards, the Dora Milaje and The Ravagers. Scott, spotting Hope first, having to blink twice to make sure she’s really standing right in front of him, that she’s not going to disappear from existence, that moments ago, she was with him, trying to save the world. And then he’s cupping her face, the curve of her cheekbones feeling just right in his palms, his gaze cruising all over her, double checking that she’s as solid as he is, and he bites his inner cheek just to make sure it’s not a dream.

“You’re here. You’re really here,” Scott lets out a strangled laugh. He’s brushing her hair back with trembling hands, ignoring the physical exhaustion taking its toll on him, and for the longest time, he can finally breath, even if the air is dusty and filled with a deathly stench.

Hope smiles, and Scott thinks she’s like a burst of sunshine against the dark, bleak sky and his entire universe lights up, because it’s not just a smile, it’s _her_ smile.

And then she’s pushing herself forward on her toes and he meets her halfway, and the moment their lips touch, it felt right, and it’s where he wanted to be all along. They kiss fervently, taking in each other’s familiar warmth and touch, holding on to each other tight, both thinking they’re never letting go, not in a million years.

Hope’s his home, always has been and forever will be.

He watches her sleep, loose strands of dark hair cascading around her face, eyes scrunch shut, childlike. He remembers the countless of times he’s woken up next to her, the only change being the weather outside. Whether it was sunny, rainy, or chilly, the only constant was her.

Scott thanks his lucky stars for second chances.

He reaches out and almost wants to touch her face but refrained himself from doing so. He doesn’t want to wake her up because he knows she has trouble sleeping. Scott figures out by the way she rolls into him in the middle of the night, clinging tightly to him, the uneasy fluttering of her eyelashes and her erratic, shallow breathing. He hasn’t ask her about her dreams yet, not yet, just like how he hasn’t mention to her about his recurring nightmares.

He tries to drift off to sleep but fails, having picked up the habit of an early riser from the past few weeks (he thinks it’s going to stick for a while). But honestly? Scott just wants to make sure Hope’s the first person he sees because there’s still an intense fear lurking deep beneath.

The fear of losing her, again.

So Scott gently brushes a kiss on her forehead, slides out from under the covers and quietly slips out from the room, taking one last look at Hope before he closes the door, just to make sure she’s there. _The paranoia._ He descends down the staircase, only to find out that he’s not the only one wide awake in the house when he hears sounds coming from the kitchen. He approaches the kitchen slowly, and peeks through the doorway, hands gripping on the frame, and watches his daughter.

Cassie, who’s fifteen years old now (can you believe it), is standing in her pyjamas, facing the kitchen island with her back to him, and Scott guesses from the ingredients placed on the table - flour, sugar, eggs, that she’s making pancakes. He almost wants to tell her she forgot chocolate chips, but stops short when she grabs a bag of chocolate chips from the top most cupboard.

The top most cupboard she was too short to reach, five years ago. That he had to either carry her, or she had to climb onto the counter to reach it. And now, she doesn’t even need a stool to reach the stove, because she’s grown, a lot.

They won, didn’t they?

Families reunited. The world celebrating, restored to a balance on the weighing scale. But why does it feel like he didn’t win. It’s almost too embarrassing to say it out loud.

Because they didn’t talk about the aftermath.

Lives lost in freak accidents when The Decimation happened. Like how some of the vanished didn’t even get to say proper, last goodbyes to their friends, relatives, families that had passed on. And how some people moved on with their lives after five years, and then what happens to the ones who returned?

Like how he had missed five years of Cassie’s life.

Scott’s face crumples and he’s backing away from the kitchen, and then he’s leaning on the wall and slumps down on a step of the staircase, rubbing his tired face with his hand, letting the impact of it all sink in.

Everything had changed a 180 degrees in the five hours he spent in the Quantum Realm, that he had to digest and recover immediately from the overwhelming explosions of emotions that had coursed through his body. He thinks he might have experienced the five stages of grief all at once when he first saw Cassie and now he’s plummeting into it one by one.

“I’m sorry” were the words Scott had uttered but Cassie had only responded with “what for?” And then he notices the subtle changes across her face. She looks a little wiser, older, and hardened, all crossing her face at one go, her bright-eyed innocence dissipating.

What was he sorry for? For missing five years of her life? For leaving? But he didn’t leave, definitely not on purpose this time. It wasn’t his choice, it was just the universe working against him, or that purple ball sack chin monster, damn it.

He was already absent for the three years of her life while at San Quentin. He didn’t get to see her lose her first tooth, he didn’t get to teach her how to ride a bicycle nor did he get to send her off on her first day of school. He didn’t get to do a lot things with her and it crushed him.

And now, she’s fifteen years old. He didn’t get to see her graduate elementary school, he missed several of her parent-teacher meetings, and he doesn’t have a clue about her interests, or what she’s into now.

Scott’s drowning in his thoughts, head spinning. He’s covering his mouth tightly to muffle his sobs, the stream of tears damping his cheeks and fingers that he doesn’t even realise Hope’s walking down the stairs.

…

It’s a little too early in the morning, and Hope’s sitting at the dining table in her parents house, one hand tucked under her chin, her other fingers drumming on the surface of the table, occupied in her own thoughts that she doesn’t realise Janet placing a cup of coffee in front of her.

“What are you doing up so early?” Janet arches a brow and takes a seat next to her.

“I can’t sleep,” Hope mutters. Her eyes are down, focusing on the tiny speck of dust on the table, her hands clasping tightly around the cup, and then she’s doing it again, drumming her fingers at the side of the cup.

Hope could feel her mother’s eyes on her. Janet gently sweeps away the strands of hair that’s partially covering the side of her face, tucks them behind her ear and then her hand is in her hair, stroking it, as if encouraging her to go further.

“I’ve been having these…dreams or nightmares,” Hope chews on her lower lip, uncertain if she should continue, because she’s slightly embarrassed. She wasn’t a child, she shouldn’t be having nightmares. She’s had a few of them after losing her mother, but it had reduced in frequency as she grew older.

“What is it about?” Janet inquires softly. She wishes her daughter were seven again, so she could tickle her until she forgets about the nightmare, hug her to sleep, and tell her everything will be alright, that she’ll be there to protect her.

But she had lost all the opportunities, thirty years ago.

So she does what she can now, she listens.

Hope closes her eyes and the images of the nightmare starts flooding back. Hank disappears first, but Hope doesn’t realise it because suddenly he’s gone and then she sees Janet reducing to ash, and she’s lunging forward, trying to grasp whatever that’s left of her mother’s hand but she disappears into ashes, settling to the ground, and she could only stare in bewilderment, helpless.

‘We have time’ Hope recalls the words of Janet after being reunited. But what time?

Then she’s crumbling away herself, and it fades to black.

Losing her mother the first time had been heart breaking.

But losing her the second time? It was devastating.

“You disappearing into thin air,” Hope’s still looking down, and a single tear falls onto the surface of the table. She tilts her head away from her mother, placing her fingers on her trembling lips. “You said we have time, but then suddenly it’s all gone, again.”

“Oh, jellybean,” Janet sighs, and she takes her hand, holding it firmly, “I’m not going anywhere, not in a long long time, not when I have my family back,” Her mother’s grip is warm, and comforting. “And there’s no use dwelling in the past, because the present is more important.”

“It’s all over right?” Hope meets Janet’s eyes and she knows she means the war. After everything that had happened, it feels different, knowing that they’re just a speck of dust in the infinite universe, and there’s other extraterrestrial beings that’s threatening to tip their world off.

Hope feels like a small child again, patiently waiting for her mother’s reassurance. Like back when she was five-years-old, succeeding for the first time in controlling the ants. Back when she was six-years-old, enthusiastically showing her mother the little science project she had created. Back when she was seven-years-old, proudly telling her that she had memorised the whole book of Entomology that her parents had gifted her.

“I believe it is,” Janet smiles warmly, patting the top of her hand.

It’s all she needed to hear.

“How’s Scott?”

Hope takes a sip of coffee from the cup, letting the much needed caffeine seep into her tastebuds. “He’s well…still Scott,” a small smile appears on her face, “but I think he’s having nightmares too.”

She knows beneath the surface of his giddy optimism, Scott’s having his fair share of nightmares. She knows because she hears the small whimpers escaping from his lips in the dead of the night, and he’s gripping tightly on the covers, but when he turns around to sleep on his side, it’s gone.

He doesn’t talk to her about it, but she’s figured part of his nightmare is about her.

Hope knows because of the way how Scott looks at her, when he thinks she isn’t noticing. There’s a flicker of apprehension in his green eyes when he stares at her, like he’s afraid she’ll vanish when he’s not looking, and then the look is gone as fast as it had appeared. She knows because he’s spending every minute with her, taking every opportunity to feather kisses on her face, holding her hands, cuddling her close, just making sure she’s safe.

“Have you talked to him about it?” Janet asks.

Hope shakes her head, “I think he’ll tell me about it when the time is right.” She doesn’t think it matters, because whatever happens, they have each other, and they’ll overcome difficulties and problems together.

Because they’re partners.

…

“Scott?” Hope calls him softly, doesn’t want to startle him.

He swivels his head quickly to the opposite direction, wiping the tears off hastily. He can’t let her see him like that, not when she has her own demons to deal with. But it’s futile because she’s observant, from the way he sniffles to the patches of damp stains on the sleeves of his robe, she knows he’s been crying.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you sitting here?” Hope looks ahead at the same direction that he’s looking and then she understands immediately. _Cassie._ She sits beside him, and then he feels her fingers carding gently through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, the movement so soothing it calms him down. “She’s grown up beautifully huh?” she adds, her hand slides over to the nape of his neck, massaging the tension away.

“Do you think she still needs me?” Scott asks simply.

There’s a brief pause. Her hand stops too, and it’s no longer on the base of his neck because she’s linking her arm with his, and she leans onto him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You know, for the longest time, I thought I didn’t need my father,” Hope glances at him sideways, giving him a small smile, and Scott is momentarily transported back to the first heartfelt conversation with her in her car, where she had poured out her feelings to him.

Look how far they’ve come.

“But it turns out I was wrong.” He hears her continue. “I came back to him, yes, because it was the right thing to do, but it was also because I needed him. He’s my family,” And then Hope looks at him straight in the eyes, “And I think, what matters the most is you came back -”

“ _We_ came back,” he corrects her, because he couldn’t imagine living a life without Hope. He stares back at her pointedly, and she knows he means she’s family too.

“And that’s the most important part, isn’t it?” Hope extends her hand and strokes his cheek. “The present,” Suddenly, she’s glad she had that talk with her mother.

Scott nods, understands, but there’s a lingering guilt hanging over him.

And then she went and said it, “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Her words were a strike at his heart. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then he tears his eyes away from her face because the tears are coming back, on the verge of falling. He often wondered how would it be like to have a partner who can read his mind, because his ex-wife didn’t get him, but Hope does, because she just said what was on his mind. 

She’s reading him like an open book.

Instinctively, Hope wraps her arm around his neck, and then he’s burying his face in between her neck and shoulder and he lets the tears fall, releasing his turbulent emotions. “She’ll always need you Scott, no matter how old is she, she’s still your daughter. Trust me,” she whispers in his ears, her fingers weaving through the back of his hair. 

He’s visibly shaking, and he knows he’s an absolute mess but he doesn’t care. Because it’s just Hope, his Hope, and he doesn’t mind baring his soul to her. They stay like that for a while, until he’s calm enough to look at her, and she brushes off the tears from his face.

“This is embarrassing,” Scott looks away, letting out a soft chuckle, rubbing the tip of his nose with his thumb.

“I don’t think the word ‘embarrassing’ was ever in your dictionary,” Hope teases him, placing a kiss at the corner of his lips. He knows she’s trying to lighten the situation, so he playfully nudges her in the ribs.

“Thank you Hope. Really,” Grateful, he pulls her close and kisses her temple.

“So, what's for breakfast?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he grins, and he’s back to his cheerful disposition, gesturing his hand to the direction of the kitchen. He stands and pulls her up from the steps, taking her hand and leads them into the kitchen.

“Cassie, why do I smell burnt pancakes?” Scott’s scrunching up his nose, sniffing the air, making Hope shaking her head and smiling.

Cassie jumps when she hears his voice, and she quickly turns around, only to find her father standing right next to her, taking a peek at the pancake in the pan. “This is _supposed_ to be a surprise, but the burnt part is not part of the surprise…,” she trails off, her voice becoming smaller at the end of the sentence, an apologetic smile on her face.

“I don’t mind charred pancakes,” Hope props herself up on the kitchen stool, smiling encouragingly at Cassie.

“Yeah, me too, I’ll eat anything you make,” Scott winks at Cassie, affectionately bumping her elbow with his.

“But I like your pancakes better dad, they’re fluffier than the one mom makes, definitely better than the ones I’m making now too,” she scoops up the last of the pancake and places them on the plate. “So, you’re making pancakes tomorrow dad…,” she’s chattering away, not noticing that Scott’s staring intensely at her.

“You…you want _me_ to make pancakes?”

“Yeah,” Cassie replies, oblivious to Scott’s reaction. She puts the stack of pancakes on the kitchen island, and starts distributing them on three plates.

Scott glances at Hope, and suddenly, he realises that she’s right, that his daughter will always need him, no matter how old is she, she’s still his kid.

“I’ll make you all the pancakes you want,” he replies, a little dazed like as he takes a seat next to her. He reaches for the whipped cream and chocolate syrup and drowns his pancakes with the both of it and then he hears Cassie snickering at him.

“You should watch your sugar levels dad, you’re not getting any younger,” Cassie giggles, teasing him with her signature wide grin, even though she’s doing the same thing with her pancakes, because that’s how she likes to eat her pancakes, because she got that from him.

“Are you saying I’m old,” he deadpans, looking straight at her.

“I might be,” she exchanges a playful glance with Hope, and then they’re laughing.

And then he sees it, he sees her as the ten-year-old (with the same shit-eating grin), having fun with the maze that he had built for her, as the ten-year-old laughing at his magic tricks, as the ten-year-old who thinks he’s the world’s greatest grandma, who thinks he can do anything.

She’s still his little girl. He’s never lost her. Because she’s here, with him, with Hope, and now they’re sharing a laugh, probably about him. Hope, wearing his grey, oversized, old university hoodie, looking absolutely adorable and lovely, and Cassie’s in her pyjamas, hair tied up in a ponytail and it’s just like every other morning five years ago, the three of them having breakfast together.

And then he thinks, for now, he can momentarily stop being a superhero, and just be a father and a partner. 

…

Later in the night, disturbed by her dreams, Hope snuggles into Scott again. Resting her head under the crook of his arm, her fingers are clinging to the outer hem of his shirt, and it arouses him from his sleep. He tilts his head down to look at her, his chin brushing the top of her hair. He knows she’s awake by the way she’s tangling her feet around his.

“Bad dream?”

Her eyes flutter open, slightly taken aback that he knows about her nightmares.

“Mhhm,” Hope hums lazily, still tinged with sleep.

And then she feels him wrapping his arms around her, spreading his fingers on her back, rubbing small comforting circles on it. He breathes in the scent of her hair, the smell of his favourite shampoo.

“You’ve never told me, what was it like?”

She knows he’s asking her about The Decimation. “You mean watching my parents fade away and then seeing myself disappear?”

His grip tightens around her. 

“Traumatising.” Hope is actually thankful that Scott didn't have to see it happen.  

Scott knows for a fact that Hope is never afraid and for her to tell him that she is, he can't help but feel a sudden outburst of anger. “You know, if I could, I would have gone back in time and killed him before he was even born.” (“But that’s not how it works!” he could almost hear Bruce saying it again.)

Hope doesn't say a word and instead closes her eyes, and listens to the sound of his heartbeat, and that it's just enough to comfort her, that she just wants him by her side. 

Silence fills the room, and then all they hear is thunder as it starts to rain, the steady pattering hitting the windows.

“Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to get through this together, whatever thing that we’re going through now, they’re going to pass, just like my bad dreams, and your nightmares,” Hope tilts her head up and stares at him, and even in the dark lit room, he could see her green eyes burning with fierce determination.

 _She knows._  A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He should have known. He can’t hide anything from her. Absolutely nothing escapes her.

“I know Hope. I know. We’re resilient creatures, aren’t we?” He closes the gap between them, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Scott figures that they'll be alright, the nightmares will fade because what's important is that they have each other, giving each other the strength to carry on, because that's what families do. They have time. 

**Author's Note:**

> I loved how Scott Lang had an emotional scene in Endgame, and thought it would be interesting to explore more of it, considering how he was a comedy relief for most of his scenes (not that I mind in any way).
> 
> Comments and kudos? <3


End file.
